Present Day
It was Saturday 18th September in the lively town of Hellview, Oregon, Terry King the Hellview sheriff sang to himself as he performed his late night rounds.
" 'I think that something is out there waiting, anticipation has grown, the air is black as can be, can't even see that my hand is in front of me, I'm overhearing a whisper 'they won't escape until the blood is set free...' "
It was a song that had been released by a band five years ago, about murder, death, destruction and a ton of homicides that had plagued the state of Oregon four years before that.
And just recently, a brand new spate of horrific copycat murders had started up in Oregon. The first town hit had been Salem, legendary for its history of witchcraft. Terry himself was in the team devoted to getting to the bottom of these murders and discovering whom the culprit was. This murderer clearly had it in his sights to make a mockery of the Oregon State Police Department as he crept up and down the state, killing every descendant and relative of the children that had been involved in the Camp Fun Massacre if he happened across them, or even killing for no particular reason.
The Camp Fun Massacre had been a case in history that no forensic detective, police Detective or Special Ops officer had ever got to the bottom of. There was no absolute motive for these killings, no even the Camp Fun connection – in fact, no-one was truly safe. And now, as the copycat murders started up again, they still hadn't found the culprit who was behind it.
Sheriff King shook his head, dispersing the memory, as he came back to the present time. He looked at the digital clock on the patrol car's illuminated dashboard and noted it said 11.59pm. A minute to midnight. A suppressed shiver made its way along Terry's back, and he swallowed the lump that had appeared in his throat.
As Terry drove past the abandoned multiplex cinema, the art deco stepped sides and sweeping arches seemed to grow above him, looming over him in the night sky. A swing of the shattered, stained glass door caught the corner of his eye and he stomped on the patrol car's brakes, making it slam to an abrupt halt and stall. He peered at the now motionless door, which hung off its hinges and had done so for a long time, close to falling. His mind began wandering as he speculated why anyone would want to go in there. It only had beggars and homeless people in. Was it youths? Or was it something else?
The clock clicked onto 12.00am. And still Terry stared at the door cautiously. He went to reach for his radio – HQ needed to know what Terry had possibly discovered.
All of a sudden, Terry spun his head round to the driver's side window as a gloved fist smashed effortlessly through the reinforced glass. Terry shouted out in terror as the hand grabbed at his flailing arms as he tried to battle it off. Then the sheriff cried out again as the powerful, long-fingered hands wrapped around his throat and pulled him roughly out of the patrol car, slicing his flesh on the jagged remains of the window, not so much as straining with the weight of a full grown man in its grip.
Then Terry saw him. The subject of the twisted legends, and his ongoing case file - The murderer, the Camp Fun Killer.
He wore a black balaclava, with black tape-like material wrapped around it, his psychotic blue eyes burning through the slits. He wore a long sleeved shirt, which also had black tape wrapped around it, coiling down the muscular arms and across the slaughterer's broad chest. A large machete hung from his studded belt, glinting maliciously in the stark, pale moonlight.
The assailant wrestled Sheriff Terry King down to the cold macadam of the deserted road and pinned Terry, sitting heavily on his belted waist. He wrenched Terry's gun out of its holster and threw it far out of reach, the bullets clattering out of the barrel, then unsheathed the machete from his belt, and raised it above eye level, deadly blade facing towards Terry.
The Killer and Terry exchanged cold stares, Terry noticing true inhuman rage in the murderer's wild, wide blue eyes, a psychotic fury staring down into Terry's own petrified brown eyes.
After a long silence filled with deathly stares, the killer drew in a rattling breath that haunted Terry to the very depths of his being. "…No-one will understand what happened then…No-one but I… The Butcher will live again..." he hissed cryptically.
Terry snapped out of his terrified stupor and revealed another side to him which police training had long since made him forget. "…What…? What happened? Tell me, and I'll help…Just don't harm me, and I'll help…" Terry said desperately, trying to compromise with the sadistic maniac. "I worked on the case… I can help…" Terror was flowing recklessly through his veins, making him shiver feverishly and sweat profusely. His thoughts flooded with the image of his children and wife, waiting for him at home. His family whom he loved so very much may never see him ever again.
Without another word or care, the killer plunged the lethal machete down into the sheriff's abdomen, and repeatedly stabbed him over and over again. The machete went into Terry's stomach, into his chest, and into his neck. And with a vicious final attack, the killer plunged the fatal blade into Terry's heart.
The killer looked down at his quarry stonily, his icy blue eyes showing no emotion. He slowly stood up, still staring down at Terry's mutilated corpse. The killer then just stood, motionless, and let the warm blood drip off the machete's blade into a puddle on the road.
Two mid twenties aged women tottered down the pavement, their high heels scraping the cement, returning from a night out in the busy Hellview town centre. They had only just recently started going out at night again. After what happened nine years ago, they hadn't been eager to go out, since they had been 2 of only 8 survivors still alive from the Camp Fun Massacre. The mere thought of the nightmare vacation carnage sent shivers down their spine. Casey and Amanda had since lost contact with some of the other survivors, although the others – Lily, James, Brandon and Chris – they were still contact with.
As Amanda and Casey passed the bakery opposite the multiplex cinema's ruins, Amanda casually glanced towards the old cinema, tutting at its dilapidated state before turning back to talk to Casey. Abruptly, she did a double take and looked back at the cinema again. She gasped and then froze as the re-enactment of her terror in 2002 made the entire colour fade from her face.
In front of the multiplex, which was silhouetted against the clear night sky, a police patrol car was parked up; its lights on and one of its windows shattered. Beside the silent car, a figure stood dominantly over a limp body. A wicked looking machete was gripped in the standing figure's hand.
Amanda thumped Casey frantically, desperately begging her to pay attention.
Casey rolled her eyes and turned to Amanda, frustration in her expression. "What is it Mandy? It's late, it's cold and I do NOT like this darkness!" she hissed angrily, getting impatient with her best friend.
Amanda said nothing but grabbed Casey's chin and pointed her gaze in the direction of the cinema, where the dark figure was now heading at a relaxed pace towards the two women, the machete in his hand raised to a threatening angle.
Casey grabbed Amanda's arm and started pulling her away from the scene, panicking. "Mandy, lets get the hell out of here! Now! Please!" she pleaded urgently, but Amanda still stood, glued to the spot in terror, her frightened eyes transfixed on the approaching killer. Casey sobbed in anguish, and together, the girls sank onto the side walk, shuddering in ultimate horror.
The killer came close to the two women and stared icily at them, no emotion showing in his depraved eyes. He took long, silent stares at Casey and Amanda, as though trying to recall them. After what seemed a lifetime, the murderer spoke in a wheezy, breathless voice that sent chills straight through the two girls. "…I remember you…survivors…familiar you are to me…" he rasped, and then tucked the machete back into his belt. He took another long gaze at Amanda and reached out towards her, with long-fingered, bloodied hands. She flinched away from the killer in sheer fright, terrified of not knowing what he would do if he got hold of her. If she was honest with herself, she would rather just not think about it.
The slaughterer drew his hand back slowly, almost as if his feelings were hurt. He cast his wild, psychotic blue eyes over the girls, then turned on his heel and fled down the street with inhuman speed, clasping his machete close to his side.
Casey and Amanda stared at each other in disbelief at their lucky escape, as they knew they had seen some similar haunting eyes like that before.
In Camp Fun in 2002.